Creatures of Habit
by missmontana
Summary: "It's always damn fires, isn't it? I should be walking around in a firefighter's uniform or something..." Erica Winchester hasn't had it easy. At all. And having a close relationship with her brothers might make her that much more honest. Sisfic.
1. Prologue: All Good Things Come To An End

**Creatures of Habit**

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Author:** maybe-moey

**A/N:** So this is my new story, my attempt to do a Supernatural fic other than my drabbles. My apologies to all of my TVD readers... Uh, yeah, so this damn plot bunny came to me about a month and a half ago making it really hard to concentrate on my TVD fics and kept whispering to me to do a Winsister fic. It's not very common, but hey, it said it needed to be done. Anyway, so I'm going to put my other stories on HIATUS and focus on this one. Set around Season 1, and will probably end somewhere in the Season 2 finale area, yada yada. Will include hunts that haven't happened and take out some that I don't think should have. So yeah... Enjoy!

~Moe

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><p><strong>Prologue - All Good Things Come To An End<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>MARCH 23<strong>__**RD**__**, 1979**_

"Lawrence Auto Repairs, John speaking."

It was the colloquial greeting he used every time his boss was way too lazy to get off of his ass and answer the damn phone himself. John Winchester liked the guy and all, but he was _busy_, you know, _doing his job_. He was practically the sole mechanic for all the town. He didn't have the time to be answering phones, that was Jenny's (who was once again away on 'sick leave') job.

"John, it's Mary," came the usually quiet voice of his wife, but today, she seemed all but quiet. He sensed an undertone of a stronger emotion in her voice.

"Hey, honey, what's up?"

"I need to talk to you. Urgently."

"What is it? Is Dean okay?"

He heard Mary sigh on the other end of the line. "No, no. Dean's fine. I was talking about me, John. It's something to do with me."

John made a sort of a grunting noise. "Can't you just tell me over the phone?"

"I would really rather prefer if you came home. I would like to talk to you, face-to-face." Mary's voice rose a little louder with each coming word. Her post-pregnancy/mum hormones made it almost impossible to try and pull one over on her… not that he could before, but she'd always been quick about that sort of stuff. John was pretty sure that she'd be telling him off if he even tried to roll his eyes right now.

He sighed. "Alright, I'll be home in ten, okay?"

"Okay. See you then, honey." John could hear the smile in her voice.

_**~x~**_

John stared at the little white stick in shock; the single pink line was more than likely staring right back at him.

"Are you sure?" He asked, breath unshaken.

Mary held up three more pregnancy tests, all of different brands, all depicting that, yes, she was, in fact, pregnant.

"Yes, John, I'm sure. The tests don't lie," she said with a smile, throwing the tests onto the counter. "Aren't you excited, John? I mean we're having a _family_. Albeit rather fast, but that doesn't matter, does it?"

John wrapped his barely clean arms around his wife's waist. "Of course it doesn't matter."

"Then how come you don't seem so excited? I'm ecstatic."

"Mary, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea that I'm going to be a father again so soon."

A few minutes past and it had finally snapped inside of John. "Holy, crow… I'm going to be a father again."

Mary snuggled in closer to her husband's rigid frame. "I know."

_**NOVEMBER 18**__**TH**__**, 1979**_

Two days earlier was the birth of John and Mary's second child, a baby girl, who looked _exactly _like her brother did when he was born ten-and-a-half months earlier.

Now, John and Mary found themselves cooing at the dopey newborn in the backseat of the Impala, wide green eyes tracing patterns on the roof. Mary leaned back and tickled her daughter's teeny foot, causing those jade-coloured orbs to meet her blue ones, and striking up the question they both had been pondering for the last two days.

"What're we gonna call her, John?" She asked, sticking the dummy back into the baby's mouth.

"Honestly? I haven't a clue, honey," he said, eyes meeting hers for a second before putting his attention back to the road.

Mary sighed, exasperated. "Well, do you think that you could get a clue soon?"

John laughed at his wife. "Well, we could name her after your mother."

"Deana? Dean and _Deana_? John," she looked and semi-glared at her husband, "they'll be teased when they go to school. Besides, if you were her, wouldn't you want to be different to your older brother?"

"If you can call ten months older."

"John!" Mary scolded and slapped his arm gently, careful as to not distract him from driving too much. "Can you please be serious for at least ten minutes? It would be greatly appreciated. Oh, and an _honest_ opinion would be nice, too."

"Mary, try to see where I'm coming from here. I wasn't expecting to have another child so soon—"

"Neither was I, but we had nine months to get used to the idea."

"I realise that, but when did we once talk baby names?" He asked.

Mary thought back over the last nine months, recalling all of the conversations she's had with John about or referring to the baby. They talked about the nursery—was Dean going to sleep in the same room—and about getting an extra car seat. They argued over which of their children will get the room overlooking the yard and whether or not to buy baby clothes before it was born. But none of these arguments or conversations ever involved baby names—for boys or for girls.

"I guess we haven't, have we?" She mused.

By this point, John had already pulled into the drive, gotten out of the car and around to the passenger's side door to help Mary out of the car. Once she was safely standing on her own, he handed her the keys and she went to unlock the front door. Dean was staying at the neighbours place for the afternoon so John could pick up Mary and Baby G (that's what they called her a few times) from the hospital.

As Mary settled into the couch, under firm instructions from her doctor to not stress herself too much for about a week at least, and she watched as her husband hurried in the house with a their dopey—but all too aware—baby girl and placed her in her mother's arms. He smiled down at his two girls, kissed their foreheads and made sure Mary was comfortable before going outside to unpack the Impala.

"And, that is the last of it," he said, bringing Mary's overnight bag and putting on the coffee table in case she needed anything from it.

She glanced up tiredly from her nursing daughter. "Aren't you forgetting something?" She smiled, a worn-out smile gracing her features.

John shook his head, clueless to what—or more, _whom_—Mary was referring to.

Sighing, she said, "Little boy, about this big—"she held her arms just under two feet apart"—green eyes, looks like our son." John just looked at her. "Oh, come _on_, John. Dean, where's Dean?"

"Oh! Thanks, I have to get him from Lindsay's place." He kissed her forehead again. "Thanks for reminding me. I'll be back in half an hour," said John who was grabbing his jacket off of the hook near the door.

"Don't drive too fast," she called out after him, knowing how much of a lead foot he was when she wasn't in the car with him. "I love you!"

"Love you too, honey!"

_**~x~**_

John sat upright in the middle of the night. He didn't know what in the world prompted it, but he knew the reason why it was important to share with Mary at four in the morning.

"Mary, Mary," he whispered, groggily.

She groaned. "What is it John? It's four in the mornin'," she mumbled without opening her eyes. It freaked John out sometime at how she knew things without even trying, but John just put it down to being a 'Mary thing'.

"I know what we can call her."

"Call who?" Mary was so close to slapping John to just _shut up_. She just had a baby, she was _tired_.

"Our daughter, honey."

"Oh."

"'Oh'? _Oh_? That's it? That's all you're going to ask?" That's all she could say about his epiphany?

"It should be the only thing that I should say at this hour. By the way, John, has any told you how horrible your timing is?"

"Whatever, do you still wanna hear what I would like to call her?"

"Shoot," she drooled.

"Erica."

"Erica?" Mary asked, siting up.

"Yeah, Erica. It was my mother's middle name."

She thought about it as she walked over to the bassinet at the foot of their bed, picking up their daughter who was, once again, tracing patterns on the roof with her eyes. Didn't Erica mean 'eternal ruler' or something generic like that?

Mary sighed. She'd want her daughter to grow up strong and independent, like she did… just not in the same way.

"Erica, huh? How about it, baby girl?" John cooed; the baby gazed at him. "Erica… I like it. It suits her, y'know?"

Mary smiled. "And judging by the little purring noises she's making, and the wide-eyed stare she's giving you, honey, I'll say that she likes it too."

_**JANUARY 24**__**TH**__**, 1983**_

Today was Dean's fourth birthday. All morning he had been pestering Mary about when was he going to get his presents? How long until the party starts? Was there going to be any pie? Because, if there was no pie, then his birthday was going to be ruined, and that would _suck_.

Dean had been going on and on about the pie for the last fifteen minutes and Mary was just about ready to cancel the party if he wouldn't _be quiet_ for just a few seconds. Erica was three, and just old enough to help out in the kitchen, and she _knew_ that there was going to be pie. She helped cut up the apples and roll out the pastry herself.

"Momma, _please_ tell me that there's going to be pie. I haven't had pie in _ages_ and—and my birthday is just going to _suck_ if there's no pie…"

As Dean continued to ramble on, Mary got less and less patient with her eldest. She was heavily pregnant (again) and, due to hormones, was so close to cancelling his party, but she knew she couldn't—she's been planning it for two weeks, now and Dean knew about it every step of the way—and sighed in frustration. Dean could be such high maintenance sometimes.

"Hey, Deanie?" Erica asked, after seeing her mother roll her eyes at Dean's idea for making a pie as big as the kitchen counter, and somehow knowing that she's just had enough. "You wanna come play on the swings with me? Maybe even get Daddy to take us to the park?"

"But, Momma—"

"—Momma will be fine. Come on!" Shrieked the three-year-old as she jumped off of the bench, landing on her feet next to her brother and practically giving her mother a heart attack. She grabbed Dean's hand and tugged him towards the back door. "Let's _go!_"

Mary huffed out a breath in relief. _Finally_,_ a break_, she thought. Mary came to the conclusion that her daughter—as young as she was—was extremely intuitive, and seemed to know exactly when things were right or wrong… or when a particular individual or two were getting on Mary's nerves.

"My little angel," she mused with a slight smile on her lip as she watched her two children run amuck in their backyard, thick winter jackets zipped up tight. It never ceased to amaze her how much her kids looked like each other. Both of them had the same shade of dark blonde—almost caramel, in Erica's case—hair and freckled skin. They were so much like twins; it was hard to believe that they were only almost a year apart. She guessed that the main difference between the two (other than the fact that Dean and Erica were obviously from the opposite sex) were their eyes. Both green, she knew that, but Dean's occasionally swayed towards hazel, whereas Erica's became a sort of sea blue.

Mary sighed again as she sat in front of Dean as they slide down the near frozen slide they had in the backyard. She was so glad that she'd been given the chance to start her own family back in '73, ten years ago. Yes, it was sad that when Mary's life truly began, her parents' had ended, but God works in mysterious ways, and Mary truly felt that angels were always watching over them.

She blinked as John stole a picture of her from the doorway that headed towards the living room. Mary turned around and frowned at her husband. _Damn, childish man_, was one thought that went through her head at his obsessive need to photograph almost _everything_. It was the third picture he caught her unknowingly in since Christmas. But then again, she compulsively kept diaries, her way of keeping the memories that were eventually going to fade away.

"Is there really any need for that, John?" Berating her husband, Mary leaned away from John and alternatively, the camera he now held. She really didn't like her picture taken, but John did it every year. Like clockwork.

"Lighten up, Mary, will you?" He said, snaking his arms around her waist, distracting her from getting the batter right for her son's cake. One of Dean's ideas throughout the past weeks wasn't so bad—the idea of a birthday pie. It was ingenious, really, and it would really keep him happy, but Mary thought it to be best to make a cake too.

"_We won't need it." Dean had said._

"_Maybe, but, Dean, not all of your friends like pie, sweetheart."_

_At this he rolled his eyes. "How can anyone not like pie? That's silly."_

_Mary sighed. "Well, that's just how it is, Deanie. I'm still going to make that cake, though."_

"_Fine," he huffed in a totally adorable toddler sort of way. "But I want the rainbow cake."_

"_You got it."_

_**~x~**_

The last of Dean's party guests had finally left at around seven-thirty and as John held a supremely sleepy four-year-old in his arms, Dean waved bye to Nick and his mother.

Erica was caught in the middle of a yawn when they came back inside to the warmth of the house. She patted the seat next her and made John put down her older brother. She grasped the blanket that she had had around her, placing it over Dean and then cuddling into his side. This was really a moment for the books, it was, and John dashed off to find the camera that he used to snap pictures of Dean's party.

"In here, John," Mary called from the kitchen, where she had just finished packing up all of the leftovers. "I still don't see your obsession with that stupid camera, John. It's pointless really. I don't know why I even gave it to you two Christmas's ago."

"You'll see why. Look at the kids."

Mary did so and was overcome with the sudden urge to go "Aw". John snapped a picture of his children keeping warm in front of the fire. He was met with two confused sets of green eyes and a whine from his son.

"Dad…" John chuckled.

Erica started to fiddle with the cowboy Woody doll he got from the twins at preschool, Clara and Nessa, and wondered if Dean liked them. If he did, then she'd laugh because Dean was a boy, and boys had cooties, and she had to make sure that Clara and Nessa didn't get cooties either. But instead she asked him if he had a good day.

"I had a great day," Dean yawned, eyes drooping with overexertion, "it was the best day ever, and I never… ever… want it to…" Dean broke off into soft sleepy snores.

"'Nighty, 'night, Deanie. Sweet dreams," said Erica.

"Okay, you two, time for bed. Say goodnight to your mother, Erica." John gently picked up Dean and walked through towards the kitchen to where Mary was washing the dishes, Erica padded along behind him.

"'Night, Momma." She hugged Mary. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetie." Mary stood up and kissed her firstborn. "Happy birthday, Dean."

_**MAY 2**__**ND**__**, 1983**_

Today Erica and Dean had found out that they were gonna have a baby brother and they were going to be big siblings.

"Really?" Asked Dean.

"You're serious?" Inquired Erica. It was funny, she was younger than Dean, but her mannerisms and the way she spoke made her seem older than three. Sorry, three and a half.

Erica and Dean looked at each other and then back to their father. "No way! Were gonna be the bestest big brother and sister _ever_!" They had said in unison. It was funny how they managed to do that, too. Like they were twins or something.

"What's his name?"

John looked towards his firstborn son. "Samuel."

Erica pulled a face. "Samuel is too long…"

"How about… Sammy?" Said Dean.

"Oh! I like it! Sammy!" Erica shrieked excitedly.

"When do we see him, Daddy?" They asked unanimously… again.

John smiled. He was glad that his kids seemed to have taken to their little brother easily and quick… And they haven't even met him yet.

_**~x~**_

Sammy was the best thing ever! Erica thought he was so cute with the little mop of hair on his head, little pointy nose and big green eyes. She imagined the days when he would be old enough to walk on his own and throw and catch a ball and run around and play with her and Dean. She was going to become a rockstar, you know, and the first song she'd sing would be about her brothers, the best things in her world. She was always so happy whenever she was with them.

She started humming a tune whenever she around him.

Dean thought that Sammy was going to be fun to play with, and much like their sister, he couldn't wait until he was older so that they could play and run around with each other. He'd teach Sam how to play catch, show him his collection of Match Box cars and tell him which were the best. He'll read to his little brother and watch cartoons with him on Saturday mornings and play cops and robbers.

He knew that he'd take care of his brother and sister forever, and not because he needed to, but because he wanted to.

_**AUGUST 25**__**TH**__**, 1983**_

Dean and Erica asked their mother if she could take them to the park that afternoon. It was almost the end of summer, and Dean and Erica had to go back to preschool next week. Sure, they liked it there, but they also like hanging out with their parents during the day, everyday and not just some days.

They were already outside; Dean and Erica just couldn't wait till Mum was ready with Sammy, not yet. They wanted to play, but they were getting too big for the swing set in the backyard, and the slide, too, so the park seemed like the best place to go.

Dean carried a soccer ball underneath his left arm and held his sister's hand with his right. She wasn't holding anything except for his hand, so when they got to the part of the road where they would have to cross, she would have to press the button to make the man go green.

"But, Dean… It's not safe to cross the road without Momma or Daddy, you know that," she whined, a frown set firmly on her lips.

"We'll be fine, Eri. There's no one driving today, so we can cross the road and still be on the other side before one comes," he reasoned.

Her frown didn't lessen. "I don't care. I'm waiting for Momma."

"Fine, you stand and wait here like a baby," he said, pointing to her, "or, you can come to the park with me."

Both ideas didn't sound appealing and Erica stood there and furthermore refused her brother who tried grabbing her hand again. Waiting for Momma was the best idea; they could all cross the road _together_. She knew that if Dean and Erica tried to cross the road on their own, something bad was going to happen. This was more of the reason why she didn't believe Dean's reasoning.

She looked over towards the road again and saw that a man was standing by the crosswalk. An idea struck her and she latched onto her bigger brother's (he wasn't even a year older than her, no way was she going to call him _big brother_) hand and started dragging him towards the man.

"What are you doing, Erica? Dad told us not to talk to strangers," he had said when he finally realised what his sister was thinking.

"Shut up, Dean." Erica knew it wasn't nice language and that Momma and Daddy had told her not to say it, but Dean was starting to annoy her. "You really want to go to the park now, right?"

Dean nodded his head, his hair flying around his face. "Yeah, but not with a stranger—"

"Then let's go!"

She waltzed right up to the man, who she only saw now that he was really, _really_ tall (that could have been because Erica was about three feet tall), and tugged on his jeans' leg twice. He turned and looked to he left and then suddenly looked down upon the eyes of the two toddlers beside him. His expression changed from being confused to one of… Erica couldn't her finger on it, but it wasn't a bad expression. She knew that she could trust this man.

"Excuse me, mister?" She asked. Dean hugged in behind her when she said this and whined, "Erica…" She ignored him.

Tall Man crouched down so that he was only maybe a few inches taller than the three-going-four-year-old. She saw his face and he seemed as if he wasn't trying to smile. His eyes were slightly slanted towards the outside of his face, but were wide and green. They kind of reminded her of her little brother. Sammy.

"Yes," he said, finally smiling sweetly at the two tiny tots in front of him.

"Can you walk us across the road?" Just as she said this, a blue car came speeding down the main road in front of the trio there, not bothering to slow down for the crosswalk. She turned around to her brother and whispered, "I told you, Dean."

Tall Man really tried not to laugh at the situation in front of him. "Sure, I think I can do that." He let out a deep chuckle. Standing up, he offered his hand to Erica and she took it, loving how warm he seemed to be, even for a summer's day. Dean walked hesitantly beside his sister. "Where's your mum?" He asked.

"Oh, she's inside, making sure our brother is ready to go," she replied chattily.

"And how old is he?"

"He's still only a baby," came Dean's voice beside her. "He can't crawl yet, but loves it when we play with him. That's why we're going to the park."

"Yeah!" Erica nodded, excitedly.

_**~x~**_

Mary rushed towards the crosswalk, she swore that she told Erica and Dean to wait for her; she was only going to be another five minutes with Sammy.

She crossed the road only narrowly being missed by a speeding red car. Any other day she would have gone off at the driver but today she was worried about the where her two eldest were running off to. She pushed Sam in his pram at running speed.

When Mary had finally reached the park about a block and a half away from their house she saw them running on the grassy patch of Lawrence's sole, lonely soccer field racing to reach the soccer ball John and Mary got Dean for his birthday. Erica was winning.

"Erica… This has to be her idea." Mary sighed. Her daughter was adventurous, that was a given, and often when she found her eldest getting into trouble, the majority of the time it was Erica's idea.

"I'd say it was," came a deep voice behind her. It was male, obviously, and seemed friendly enough. Mary turned around and just looked _up_.

"Sorry?" She inquired, picking up little Sammy. If he were going to try anything, then she'd make sure she ran with her child.

"Are they your kids?" He asked.

"Yes…" Mary was hesitant; she couldn't really get a read on him, so whomever he was, he was good, trained… or maybe just a career liar. She took in overall appearance: tall, strong build, lean, but had a kind face with honest eyes.

He smiled. "Sorry, I can't believe how rude I've been. I'm Jason." He held out his hand to shake hers. "Yeah, your daughter came up to me, asked me if I could walk them across the road. I thought I'd do the right thing and wait with them until you came."

"Well, thank you, I guess. You didn't have to," She grinned with relief—nice guy—and motioned around her, "it's a small town, people rarely come through here, they were pretty much safe, anyway."

Something darker flashed through Jason's eyes, like what Mary was saying wasn't completely true. He righted it before she could really judge it. "Maybe, but it seemed like the right thing to do, nonetheless."

"Thank you, again."

"It was my pleasure. Your kids remind me of my sister and cousin when we were younger." The way he spoke made Mary think that his words were practiced. They seemed too fluent. "What're their names?"

"Uh, Dean and Erica are my eldest," she said pointing to the soccer field ahead of them, "and my youngest is Sam."

"Sam, huh?"

"Yeah, he's only three months." Mary beamed and presented a doe-eyed baby Sam. His little eyes immediately found Jason's and the man wiggled his finger in front of the babe. Sam gurgled.

"Single mum?" He asked as if he already knew the answer.

"Uh, no. My _husband_," it didn't go unnoticed by Jason the extra emphasis on the word, "works as the main mechanic in town."

"John?"

"Uh, yes. Do you know him?"

"No, no. He's, uh, repairing my car. I'm only passing through."

"Oh."

An awkward pause encircled them for about a minute longer. Jason stared out at the two toddlers who had switched from kicking the ball around to racing their way through the play equipment like it was a training regime: Down the slide, on the swings, over the see-saw, across the monkey bars, repeat. It was cute really, and Mary couldn't help but notice the small smile of awe over his face.

_This must be a one-off for him_, she thought, _watching my kids like he wishes he has his own._

"Anyway, I should go," Jason said, turned and started walking away with a smile on his face despite slight brooding slump in his shoulders.

_A mother knows_, they say, and Mary couldn't help but feel some sorrow towards the young man walking away from her, like something underlying from his past prevents him to have the things he may have wanted most once upon a time. Mary could empathise with him there. Not so long ago she had felt the same way, she just hoped that maybe, just maybe, one day Jason could find even just a sliver of the happiness she possessed today.

_**NOVEMBER 2**__**nd**__**, 1983**_

Mary spied through the kitchen window at her husband in concern as he leaned precariously off of the right side of the ladder, attempting the yank down the last of the Halloween decorations just as the wind began to pick up again. Her first and second born were shrieking gleefully behind him, jumping into the three-foot piles of golden and scarlet leaves. The weather this last week has been horrible: cold snaps, heatwaves, and electrical storms. These rapid changes in weather were so bad that a couple of farmers just out of town had found some of their cows had split open. It was gruesome, and according to the papers it's not uncommon with weather changes like that. Mary still had her doubts, though.

Mary, absentmindedly, went back to peeling the potatoes in the sink when she heard her daughters worried shout.

"Daddy! Hold on!"

Peeler long forgotten in the sink, she dashed outside just in time to help her two kids steady the ladder John was standing on just another, bigger gust of wind ripped it's way through their backyard.

When the wind finally settled, John climbed down ladder breathing heavy, shocked. Erica flung herself around her father's legs and looked up at him, eyes full of worry.

"Daddy, are you okay?" She asked.

John leant down and lifted her into his arms as Mary did the same with Dean. "I am because of you, darlin'." His eyes met Mary's and then turned back to stare into blue-green orbs. "How did you know that I was going to fall?"

"I don't know, I just did. Dean said he felt cold and I felt that the wind was coming."

"Hmm…" John pondered this as he walked through the threshold, closing the door behind him and set Erica on the kitchen counter. He walked over the sink, washed his hands and continued to peel the potatoes that his wife started minutes earlier. Mary and Dean in watching TV.

"Daddy?" She asked and jumped across the two-foot space between the island bench and the sink, ignoring her father's "don't do that, you'll fall" and sat down again. She started swing her legs.

"Yes?" John continued.

"Are you mad?" Erica sounded rueful for even asking it.

"Mad at what, Erica?"

"Me… for not being able to tell you why." She stopped swinging her legs.

John paused and frowned. Looking at his baby girl he said, "Of course not. I'm grateful for that. Besides, if it weren't for you, I'd have a couple of boo-boos right now." He smiled.

"Dad... I'm not a baby. I know that boo-boos mean that you're hurt." She rolled her eyes.

"You still believe in cooties."

"That's 'cause they're _real_, Daddy." She watched him peel the potatoes and shook her head. "No, no, no! You're doing it wrong."

"I'm peeling potatoes, darlin', how am I doing that wrong?" John said, flabbergasted.

"You're taking too much off. Don't press too hard. Here," she bossed, reaching around his arms and taking the peeler away and a new potato. Erica lightly pushed onto the skin and ran her hand away from her, doing her best not to squish the vegetable. "See? Better, and let spud-wastage."

"Spud-wastage?"

"Uh-huh. It's a serious matter, Dad. Happens too often all over the world!" Like Dean's obsession for pie, Erica loved her potatoes. God knows why, they weren't even Irish.

"I'm sure, kiddo. Now give that back, you wanna eat right?"

**~x~**

Mary walked into the nursery, Dean attached at her hip, and flicked on the light. John had just put Erica in bed. She said she wasn't feeling too well after dinner and Mary wouldn't cut it. A big Daddy's Girl she was.

"Come on, let's say goodnight to your brother," she said, putting him down.

Dean leaned over the rails of the crib and kissed his brother's forehead twice, one from him and one from Erica. "Night, Sam," he said. Mary did the same and stroked her youngest's head.

"Goodnight, love…" she cooed, just as John walked in.

"Daddy!" Dean said and leapt at his father.

"So whataya say, Dean? Sammy ready to toss a football yet?"

"No, daddy!"

"No?"

"You got him?" Mary asked, heading towards Erica's room.

"Yeah, I got him," he replied, and turned back to Sam. "Sweet dreams, Sammy." He flicked off the light and went to put Dean in bed.

Walking back down the hall to go watch some TV before bed, John heard the back-end of a short conversation between his daughter and wife. Erica sounded worried as her mother seemed sceptical.

"What do you mean 'be careful', sweetie?"

He heard a sigh as he passed her bedroom door. "Please, Momma? I have a bad feeling…"

"Everything is fine, okay? Angels are watching over us." Mary stood to turn and leave. John almost didn't quite catch what his daughter said next.

"I hope so." If Mary heard it, she ignored it and went to bed herself.

"Night, John." She kissed him on the cheek.

"Night, babe." He continued down the hall.

**~x~**

Everything seemed to happen in a blur.

John woke up to hear a scream. Standing bolt upright, he rushed up the stairs to where he would have sworn he heard Mary scream, TV long forgotten. The overwhelming instinct to protect whom he loved, welled up in John while he inspected the nursery (he didn't even realise that there was another, smaller person hiding behind the rocking chair). Nothing seemed out of place; all the books on the bookshelf were as they were, mobile was spinning slowly, not even the teddies in the corner seemed to have been touched. Maybe he had been imagining things. Too many horror movies before bed…

His attention was turned to his son and he muttered some useless, calming nonsense to Sam. Something dropped down from the roof landing next to Sammy's head. John leant over to touch what had fallen, only to have several more drops drip onto the back of his hand.

John looked up.

"Mary!"

The roof set ablaze right where his wife seemed to be stuck to the ceiling. John stared in horrified shock as his wife was slowly being burnt. He grabbed Sam and ran out of the room, meeting an extremely confused Dean in the hall.

"Dad—"

"Take your brother and run, Dean, and don't look back! Go, Dean, now!" Dean obeyed and ran downstairs as John returned to the nursery to try and save his wife.

No one thought to ask where Erica was.

**~x~**

_**JANUARY 1**__**st**__**, 1984**_

John was on his second glass of Jack, furiously writing in his journal Missouri gave him about two months ago.

'_Today a new year begins. Mary loved this time of year; she loved the idea of a fresh start for everyone. She always made a resolution, one a year, and unlike most people, she kept hers. And every year she tried to talk me into making one, but I could never see the point. I wish I could have seen her diary. Maybe it would help me remember her. Maybe it would clue me in to some over her secrets. Maybe that's the point of a diary. Keep your stories, your life, from dying. So that other people don't forget.'_

John poured himself another glass and sipped slowly at it this time. He sighed and tried to hold back a barrage of tears. He wasn't drunk enough to deal with these emotions now.

'_God I wish the kids could have known Mary for longer.'_

John wouldn't have said it unless it was true. He really did want his children to have known their mother longer. Things like this shouldn't happen. Children shouldn't have their parents taken away from them at such a young age.

John's hands tightened around the pen he was holding. He was going to do everything in his power to make things right. He sighed and put his glass to his lips, throwing his head back and swallowing the last of it in one mouthful, and continued writing in his messy scrawl.

'_This year I'm making a resolution. I'm going to find out what happened to my wife.'_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And that concludes the prologue. Thanks to the Super-wiki, I spent all day on it for the hell of it and happened to stumble across 'John's Journal' links. This one link led me to the diary entries from right after Mary died. That's where I got the diary entry at the end there.**

**Check out my profile for a short bio on Erica.**

**Reviews are the comforting hugs from all the Weechesters!**


	2. Chapter 1: Another Fire

**Creatures of Habit**

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Author: **maybe-moey

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_. Shocker, I know, but if I did, Sam and Dean would be shirtless a helluva lot more often. But I do own Erica. Yay me!

_Upwards and onwards with the story. Drop me a line if you wanna, okies? I really wish y'all would._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1 - Another Fire<br>**

* * *

><p>I don't know how I manage to get into this position. I sit quietly, a foreboding feeling just seems to well up and settle in the bottom of my stomach forcing me to be unable to eat, sleep or even breathe properly, and then when it all becomes too much, I creep quietly to the area where the feeling seems to get worse.<p>

The first time I really noticed that feeling was two weeks before my fourth birthday. It was about two days after Halloween, my older brother and me were playing around in our backyard jumping into three-foot piles of crisp golden and scarlet leaves and basically running amuck. My dad, he was pulling down the last of the pumpkin-shaped lights that we put up every year when a cold chill seemed to settle itself in my bones. I remember barely calling out to him and ordering my brother to help me stabilise the ladder before the huge gust of wind hit.

I was lucky that my mother had come outside just in time: my brother and I wouldn't have been able to keep him on the ladder by ourselves. Dad, he was grateful and proud, you know? That kind of feeling, I could see it in his eyes, even though he did have questions. Questions I still don't know the answer to.

It was later that night, just after dinner, I'd say, when I got that feeling again. This time, though, I was drawn to my mother. It was the same foreboding feeling as before, 'cept this time it was different. Worse. _Stronger._

I'd hang off of her all night and she'd tell me off because I was being too clingy. In the end I ended up going to bed sick; my food didn't settle, my head hurt, and not to mention that I was sad, too. And after all that, and a very skeptical conversation with my mother, that mood seemed to have shifted, not all the way from my mother… but to the nursery where my baby brother slept. I was certain that my parents wouldn't catch me if I snuck into his room to watch over him as he was sleeping, but I also knew that they'd come in to feed him during the night, and I hid behind the rocking chair and dozed amongst the teddies there.

There's not much I remember from that night other than three distinct things: pain, smoke and Mum. Pain, because of the fire, in a blaze I thought that I tried to save my mother from being hurt by that son of a bitch and he threw me at the wall like I was nothing but a piece of trash.

The next time that I got that very same feeling was eleven and a half years after that. We were out on a hunt, the third time for my little brother and my first time _with_ my father and big brother. I'd hunted in secret for about 2 years in secret. Dad refused to take me along, even though he _knew_ I was more than capable for this one job. Damn, ignorant males. Anyway, my spidey-senses were tingling yet again towards my younger sibling. He'd've been in danger if I didn't tag along.

The hunt itself was fine, no complications at all, but it was what happened afterward. We went out to celebrate that _I_ was right and my father should listen to me more often. (You ask him, though; he'd tell you that it was for everything going without a hitch... Liar.) We walked out of the tiny diner in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, the feeling was running overdrive and I couldn't control it, or, in the very least, rein it in. He was crossing the street going to the car while Dad and my other brother paid for our meal, when a white sedan came roaring around the corner. I was like an out-of-body experience. I was watching through my own eyes, but someone else was controlling my body—I didn't even think about it, it was instinctive. _Protect_. Before I know it, my brother was lying in a grassy patch on the other side of the road calling my name, there was a scream and everything was turning into a blur. I was in a coma for three weeks after that night. In a wheelchair for about three months after the hospital and spent like a gazillion dollars on pretty intense physiotherapy, only to be told that I'd never walk again. Well, I showed them fuckers; I was on my feet within a month of losing the wheelchair, walking freely on my own. All of that happened over the summer of '95. Longest summer in my life to date.

Anyway, here I am, ten years after a _severe_ dose of my spidey-senses later. Sure I get some watered-down versions of the same feeling, but it's only natural, you know? Ten years… and I still remember it like yesterday. Hell, it _could_ have been yesterday, for all I know, time really does fly, and nothing changes. Even though I haven't seen either of my brothers for about two years, doesn't mean that I don't care. I do, so bad.

So when my guts tells me to go to Palo Alto, California, I will not stop driving until I get there. Speeding and traffic laws be damned…

* * *

><p><strong><em>NOVEMBER 2ND, 2005<em>**

Erica Winchester woke to the smell of burnt flesh, hair, and complete and utter determination coming from the _gorgeous_—except for the fact that he was arrogant, that's a turn off—fireman in front of her. Sometimes, her partly conscious mind connects with her mouth before she realises fully, often leaving her fully conscious mind to somehow bring the situation back into her side of the court. One of those times was now.

"Put me down, you perv with ridiculously nice eyes. I _can_ walk, you know," she argued with the yellow-clad man and wiggled in his grip. "I was in a house fire, not hit by a freaking car, dude. Oh, and for your information, that's happened to me too."

Fireman resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm sure you have—"

"I have. Put me down and I'll show you the scars from the surgery I had about a decade ago," Erica said rudely, cutting him off. She was just pulled semi-conscious from a burning building, yeah, she was grateful, but she'd be even more grateful if he _let her walk_.

"If I put you down, do you promise not to run? Because, seriously, the D.A. will have my ass if something happens to you and you say that I haven't followed protocol."

"Cross my heart and hope to die…"

"Right."

"Stick a needle in my eye…"

"Uh huh."

"Boil in oil until I fry." She finished reciting with a smirk, remembering all the trouble she used to get in, after promising with that same little poem that she and her brothers shared, as a kid.

The fireman just stared at her, they had reached the ambulance by now and he still hadn't put her down, firmly believing that she was delirious. "Please don't say that."

"Say what?" She tilted her head to the left slightly, arms tightening just a little more around his neck, her burnt, once-honey coloured locks tickling his ear. "Boil in oil until I fry? Why, does that upset the poor fireman? Whatever, dude." Erica, digging her heels into the guy's side and making him lose his grip on the twenty-five-year-old. Once on her feet, Erica swayed for just a moment at the sudden rush of blood to her legs and started walking briskly in the opposite direction to the persistent fireman.

"Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?" Asked the fireman in question.

Erica rolled her eyes and kept walking, not bothering to stop to answer the man. Instead she called over her shoulder. "Away. My car is around back. I need to find where the hell my brothers have gone."

"Oh, no, no, nono." His footsteps were getting louder. _Damn_, she cussed, _persistent fucker._ A hand grasped her forearm, touching her burned skin and forcing her to turn. "You are going to see the paramedics." He stared sternly at the escapee and added a more assertive tone to his demeanour. "I won't _let_ you leave."

Her eyes narrowed. "That last time someone used that tone of voice on me was unable to breath properly for a month and had paid an extensive amount of money to have their nose surgically reconstructed." She flexed her fist. "Don't even _try _to stop me… or else." Erica glanced down at his still lingering hand, enough fury in her gaze to be able to melt glaciers if she stared at one for long enough. Fireman's hand dropped to his side.

Smiling, she turned and ran.

"See ya later, baby! I'll catch you next time!"

"Hey! Someone stop her!"

**~x~**

Nineteen miles down the road later, Erica stopped running. Lungs burning because she was sure that she inhaled too much damn smoke in that fire. (The girl could run for thirty miles before she had a stitch.) She'd been running for a couple of hours and barely had enough change in her pockets for a bottle of water from the minimart across the road… She had to find a pay phone. Call her idiot brother to come and pick her up, because he was bound to have not gone far enough away from the unit so that—if the need arose—Sam could have gone back to the ashen place and scrounge out some of his belongings without having hours to travel to get there.

_That kid has had enough sadness in his short life to last a lifetime. Hell, we all have._

Walking past the minimart with a small limp—no, muscle cramp, because Erica never limps—in her step, Erica scanned the immediate area looking for a payphone when her eyes immediately fixed themselves to a shoddy motel across the street. Well, not the motel, _per se_, but the V8 that sat outside of the motel was what caught her attention.

"Son of a bitch… Looks like I'm not gonna need that payphone, now," she said breathlessly as she walked across the road, narrowly being missed by a late night driver. Glancing up, she saw that address of the motel on the sign, sighing as she did so.

"Typical." Erica shook her head as she approached the room that she assumed belonged to her brothers for the night (if it weren't for the fact that the Impala was sitting outside of the front door, the almost unnoticeable salt line gave them away… only if you knew what you were looking for) and twisted the doorknob.

Locked. Of course it'd be locked, for cripes' sake. Her baby brother was a potential target for a demon tonight. If by any means that a locked door—if not for the sentimental value it gave—would give Sam the peace of mind to be able to sleep tonight, then knowing her barely-older brother, Dean would no doubt do everything in his power to keep their younger sibling safe… even from Sam's own imagination. Lord knows the amount of times that Dean's tried to do that...

Reaching towards her scalp, totally ignoring where the burnt—singed—ends of her hair were, she detangled one of the many bobby pins from her head and used as a makeshift lock-pick. Yes, Erica could have knocked and scared the living daylights out of her more than likely sleeping brothers, but she can't bring herself to the idea of her brothers missing out on a chance at sleep by waking them, even if it were only a mere few seconds.

Erica jiggled the bobby pin another time before finally unlocking the door and moving carefully over the salt line to close the door and locking it again.

It was only then that Erica allowed herself to relax. It had been a very long last few hours and she was dead on her feet, almost literally. Her lungs ached; her feet ached (she was pretty sure she'd have about a million blisters on the soles of her feet); her burns she could feel, now, and they hurt like a bitch. Maybe they were bleeding again? Or hadn't they stopped? She knew that it'd didn't matter if her shirt was soaked with blood—it was more a case of _what shirt?_—and her bra was barely clinging itself to her shoulders. The legs of her jeans didn't exist anymore. Erica's legs were so numb she couldn't be sure if she really burnt them bad or not. But one thing was certain, she was definitely a sight to been seen if anyone did see her. She didn't want that, especially since now that an arrogant, _sexy_ fireman wanted her to go to hospital. _'Over my dead body,' _she could almost hear herself saying. Hospitals brought unwanted attention, and if John E. Winchester taught them anything, it was to not attract any unnecessary attention.

Erica sighed and turned around. He sight before her was something she had missed over the last four years.

_I should have taken more photos of these two. Damn, how Sam has changed, kid must be at least six-two._

It was adorable. Dean hung himself halfway off of the single bed, legs and arms flailing out from under the sheets at odd angles, a dopey sleep-grin plastered on his face. Anyone looking at him would think he's a messy sleeper, they'd be wrong though. It was a practicality thing. Easier for Dean to jump up and out of bed to "make the bad things go away," something he once said to a nine-year-old Sam.

Sam, though, was quite the opposite. Maybe it was because he's been so accustomed to living with another person that he's managed to bring the covers up higher than his waist, maybe it's because he was emotionally shaken at the moment. But whatever the Hell it was, it was different because Sam slept very similar to how Dean does, maybe even worse, and that caused Erica to worry more about her baby brother than usual.

Deciding to leave them at peace rather than go over and neaten their sheets (habits that haven't died since she was about fifteen… she's gonna blame it on the maternal bones in her body) and possibly wake them in the process, she blew them a kiss each and snuck her way towards the bathroom to shower and hopefully clean herself off before she was going to eventually pass out on the couch due to exhaustion… and before Sam and Dean see how fragile she looked at the moment. Because if there is one thing that Erica May Winchester is _not_, it is delicate and fragile.

Closing the door behind her, Erica groped blindly to find a towel or something to shove underneath the door so the light wouldn't disturb her brothers. Erica flicked the light on…

…and screamed when she looked behind her.


	3. Chapter 2: Small Reunions

**Creatures of Habit**

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Author: **maybe-moey

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Supernatural_. Shocker, I know, but if I did, Sam and Dean would be shirtless a helluva lot more often. But I do own Erica. Yay me!

**A/N:** _Just so you know, I have changed the summary of this story yet again. Because? Well, let's just say that I suck balls at writing them, and I wasn't happy with the last one. Let's hope that this one will be more enticing won't we? _

_Oh, and I apologise in advance if the writing style has seemed to changed... I haven't written anything in a while, and over the lat two days I have devoted myself to this story more. :D It will take maybe a couple more chapters for things to get rolling. hopefully, maybe in the next one, yes?  
><em>

_Reviews are always welcome... I haven't been this unpopular for a while._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2 - Small Reunion<br>**

* * *

><p>It's instinctual that whenever something seems… off, Dean automatically jumps into action. Reaching underneath his pillow for the gun he normally had stashed there, he met a groggy Sam at the door that led to the bathroom. Why he had heard a scream from the bathroom when he was almost certain that no one else was staying in their room? He had no idea, but when the opportunity for a potential hunt presented itself, Dean was always welcome for it. Kicking in the door, a petite figure spun and raised their hands in an apologetic gesture and smiled a small grin.<p>

"Easy, Dean! Jesus," came from the figure.

"Erica? What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded, lowering his gun. Sam relaxed his position and Erica dropped her arms. "Why are you screaming up a storm?"

She laughed shakily, and moved passed her brothers, pausing for a second by Sam and just looked _up_. "Damn, kid, you got tall!" Dodging Dean's questioning gaze, she giggled. Her laugh was firmer now. "Come here!"

"Hey, Eri," Sam hugged her. "How you been?" He asked, completely ignoring his own problems for the moment.

"I'm good. I ran about nineteen miles after more than likely suffering smoke inhalation. Other than that, I'm fine."

Her brothers narrowed their eyes simultaneously. "Why didn't you call us?" they asked and shared a look.

Erica rolled her eyes. "Don't forget where you both picked that up, you two." She reached into the pocket of her burnt jeans and pulled out a mangled black thing. "My phone melted. 'Sides, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

Dean raised a brow and flopped ungracefully back onto his bed. "Where were you that was hot enough to melt a phone?"

"House fire," she said, like it were small talk.

"We can tell," Sam said, taking in her appearance. She looked like crap. Plain and simple. Scraps of barely recognisable black fabric clung desperately at her shoulders and bust. Her jeans had become torn and rag-like jean shorts, exposing her—surprisingly—unburnt legs. Leather boots seemingly untarnished by the 'house fire'. There was some pretty extensive burns across her arms and back, and seemed to have licked at her abdomen. Lucky for her, Sam thought, she can still be vain about her facial appearance.

Then the youngest of the Winchesters pointed to her head. "I'm guessing that's why you screamed?"

Dean perked up at this, seeing where Sam was pointing. "Ah, come _on_. You're not serious, are you?" Erica glared at him. "The one thing that you're a girl about, and it has to be your _hair_."

Erica folded her arms roughly and ignored the wince when she rubbed her raw and bloody skin together. "It beats _oh, my god, I broke a nail_, doesn't it? I'd say it does."

"Yeah, well, whatever. If you're not gonna gimme the time of day, I'm going back to sleep. 'Night, bitch, Erica."

"Jackass," she muttered.

Sam sighed. "Whatever, jerk." He turned towards his sister. "So, you gonna stand there bleeding all night? Or do you wanna get cleaned up?"

"Honestly, I was hoping to crash, man." She slumped on the couch and had to hold her lunch down from the downright horrible stench it emanated. "On second thought, you still got that first aid kit? The one that could to have enough supplies in there to be able to run a hospital in a small country?"

Sam laughed. God, he missed her so much. Her ability to incorporate silly things into a horrible situation was outstandingly better than Dean's, and that was something hard to accomplish. He could feel the smile slowly growing further across his face. She made him feel that much happier, and he needed it, too. Everything that happened during the last few hours and with Jess…

"Yeah, it's in the Impala. I'll go get it," He said, shaking himself and the thoughts that added unnecessary years to his face.

"Awesome."

**~x~**

Some creative cussing, several rolls of bandages and almost a whole bottle of ointment later, Erica leaned back against the headboard of Sam's bed and laughed. "Your medical skills haven't improved much, Nurse Ratched. But hey, they're still a helluva lot better than Dean's, lemme tell you."

Packing away the few meagre supplies they had left, Sam nodded. "Yep." He didn't laugh, not even a smirk.

_What is he thinking about?_

"Uh, Sam? Are you okay, man?"

Greens eyes met aqua—due to Erica's forever-switching eye colour, from blue to green to in between, they could never stay the same colour for longer than a day—and Sam almost had to look away from the intensity of her mother-like stare. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine, all in one piece."

The older Winchester's brow furrowed. "You know that's not what I meant." Erica stared at him hard. If she looked at him hard enough for long enough she's be able to force the answer out of him, like she and Dean used to be able to do when they were kids. It was the natural order of things: older siblings 'bully' younger siblings, but as soon as someone else bullied Sam, Erica and Dean homed in on 'em like a pack of dogs.

"Look, I get that you're worried, really, I do, but I'm _fine_. So it's unnecessary."

"Don't feed me that bullshit. It's my _job_ to worry about you… and Dean."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Of course. It's always rolls back to Dean doesn't it?" He stood.

Erica's eyebrows were risking making her blind. "What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" She shot out of her seat on the bed. "Are you _jealous_ of Dean? Dude, that is _so_ beneath you."

"I'm not jealous of Dean, Ric! I'm just saying that you care about him more than you do about m—"

"Shut up, Sam. You're talking out of your ass," Erica snapped and shot upright. "Oh, and by the way, _you're_ the reason I'm here right now. Not Dean! Okay? _You're_ the reason why I needed you to bandage me up just now. Hell! _You're_ the reason why I was even at your apartment in the first place!"

The younger of the two was taken aback. "You were at my apartment?"

"Duh," she replied flopping back on the bed and wincing when it rubbed against her burns. She sighed. "I was just coming to meet up with Dean when he told me that Dad was missing, said he was gonna try to rope you in to try and find him. Bobby called and said he found a poltergeist in my area, so I detoured, told our _dear_ brother to go on without me."

"Yeah, 'cause that turned out so well," Sam muttered, sitting next to her.

"What?"

"Never mind… Uh, Dean going on without you…"

Shaking her head, she continued, "Right, anyway. Routine salt'n'burn, baby stuff. Then I got that feeling…"

"_The_ feeling?"

"Yeah, _that_ feeling. It hit me like a tonne of bricks this time, and I just drove."

"'Drove'?" Sam was confused.

"Yes, drove. I drove to you. I got here about six hours before you showed up," Erica said, bashful and then smiled. "Probably broke like six different state's traffic laws, too."

"And then what happened?" He asked. "After you got here?"

Erica met his eyes and looked away. "Not the time, Sammy. You won't wanna know." She looked as if she were going to cry. "It'd only disappoint you further."

Sam opened his mouth to say something and shut it again. Lightly resting a hand on his sister's un-bandaged shoulder and squeezed gently. She leaned into his touch and wiped her nose on 'her' sleeve. Really, it was Dean's. She'd stolen one of his shirts to sleep in. Her excuse when Sam offered her one of his: "I like room to move when I sleep, Sam. But that doesn't mean that I want to sleep in a sheet."

"Uh, thanks, man. I guess it's been a bit of an emotional day…" Lying down, she mumbled almost incoherently, "I think I'm just gonna crash."

"Yeah, I guess it has."

**~x~**

Morning rolled around, and, surprisingly, Dean woke up first. He rolled over and checked on the time, it was early for him, his eyes drifted over to his youngest sibling's sleeping, mountain-sized form on the couch and then his sister's on the single bed beside him. Now that it wasn't as dark as last night, he really took in her appearance. Burnt skin claimed her arms, where the bandages had either fallen off or were never there in the first place, and most likely a lot of her legs as well. Her face was unscarred, which is a surprise, considering the amount of her hair that burned so badly, it was like little straws of charcoal. If Dean looked hard enough, he would probably be able to see it making stains of the pillowcase. But her hair—the parts that weren't burnt—was still the very same haunting shade of blonde that she inherited from their mother.

Overall, though, she hadn't changed much in the few months that they haven't seen each other. Their father occasionally joining Dean on his own individual hunts hadn't really called for family time either, considering the non-relationship Erica had with him.

Running a hand through his hair, he stumbled his way to the bathroom to shower, deciding that it was probably best if he left his younger siblings to sleep. Erica, well, Erica looked like crap, and Sam probably felt like crap, too. Dean can't say that he's ever felt the way his brother was probably feeling right now because he's never allowed himself to get that close with someone, but he's pretty sure that Sam would want two things: Jess back, or to be left alone. Both were practically impossible.

As Dean pondered things in the shower, Erica had woken, saw her reflection in a window, and trudged out of bed. Scrambling through a duffle, she pulled out adequately sized clothes (meaning a pair of decent sweatpants and a machine shrunken t-shirt), took the keys to the Impala and put a piece of paper on Sam's forehead.

**~x~**

"I brought breakfast!" Erica called when she walked into their room at the In'n'Out Motel.

Dean appeared from around the corner. "Dude the next time you wanna borrow clothes, warn me? 'Cause now I have lumps on the front of my favourite ACDC shirt—and what did you do to your hair?" He started laughing. "You got a Sam haircut, man! Oh god, that's gold. Hang, let me get a camera…"

Erica frowned. She was self conscious as it was. Her hair's always been long, and now… now it was barely brushing her shoulders. Flicking her fringe out of her eyes, she walked and practically threw Dean's burger at his head before taking a seat on his bed and attempting to tie it up off of her face. Sam came out of the bathroom—his eyes red-rimmed and looked suspiciously like he'd been crying, she didn't say anything—and smiled at her.

"It's bad enough it got burned to a crisp, but taking a pair of scissors to it? Oh, my God, I've never felt so pained…" Her frown deepened as Dean snapped a photo and laughed again. "This is _so_ not funny, bro. Do you even know how long it took to grow my hair that long? Years, Dean, _years_."

He smirked. "Ah, c'mon. Lighten up. It'll grow back—"

"—Not overnight!" Erica growled in frustration when her hair wouldn't obey and flopped back, moaning when her shoulder hit the bedhead.

Sam piped up, preventing the superficial argument that was surely going to follow. "Hey, I like it. If anything, it frames your eyes more than before." He smiled.

Erica peeked out from under her lashes. "Really, Sammy? You think so?"

"I know so," he replied, ignoring his brother's: "Since when did you grow ovaries, Samantha?"

Dean laughed again, looking at the picture. "Definitely gotta start keeping an album of you two's lame hair. You look like a chick version of Sam, Eri…"

She groaned again, muttering something along the lines of, "Shut up, asshole."

"No. You know she looks like a chick version of you, _Dean_, only with my hair," Sam corrected.

"You can both shut up now."

"Bite me, Sam."

"Jerk.

"Bitch—"

"Knock it off!" Erica all but yelled. "I'm serious. I've been awake with you two all of ten minutes and you're already arguing." She glared at the boys: they looked away. Shaking her head, she started again, "So, anyway, I was wondering what we're gonna do today. I assume that you both don't wanna stay here for much longer. I mean I _know_ that I must've looked pretty suspicious when I bolted from the apartment last night… So, are we taking off soon?"

"Yeah, sure."

"No."

Erica and Dean raised their eyebrows, looking every bit as stereotypical as twins as they could. "Sam?" They chorused.

He glanced up and then away. "I… I don't want to leave unless at least _try_ to look for the thing that killed her. I mean… she died on the ceiling… like mum. There has to be a connection here, right?"

Erica moved to sit next to him, and wrapped her arms around her mammoth-sized brother. "Oh, Sammy…" she whispered something in his ear, something Dean couldn't hear, and continued louder, "We don't have to go just yet. Do we, Dean?"

The eldest Winchester raised a brow while chomping on his bacon cheeseburger. "Eri, I don't know…"

"Dean," she repeated firmer.

Rolling his eyes, he reluctantly agreed. "Ugh, fine. Whatever, we can stay a few extra days. Oh, and while we're at it, we're buying you clothes, sister. I don't want any more boob-shaped lumps in my shirts…"

She ignored him again. "With that being said, where are we gonna start?"

Sam looked up at her, two sets of green eyes meeting; one set with sadness, one set with deep understanding.

"We start like we always do: Where it happened." Sam looked at his brother and Dean nodded. He might not like the idea of bringing Sam any more unnecessary pain, but it's something he wanted to do—something Sam _needed_ to do—and he couldn't deny him that.

"We start at my apartment."


End file.
